


Motives

by Zanik_of_the_Dorgeshuun



Category: Runescape
Genre: Addiction, Canon Compliant, Canon Trans Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gods, Hope vs. Despair, Internal Conflict, Loneliness, Mental Anguish, Neglect, Seren Fuckery, Serenists, Sixth Age, everything you'd expect with the Cywir Elves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-12-18 09:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanik_of_the_Dorgeshuun/pseuds/Zanik_of_the_Dorgeshuun
Summary: Angof and the Cywir elves are visited by three gods, one by one. Each one offers help, but their motives are clear.Is it too much to ask to have some selfless kindness for once?





	1. Prologue

She had seen the World Guardian a few times since they met, and talked on occasion too. The human was sympathetic, but Angof had never wanted sympathy. They tried to be empathetic, too, but of course could not fully understand. No one could barring those who had lived it: those she had loved, who had lost themselves to the crystal.

She talked to her loved ones still, though their ability to reply varied. Recently her cousin Lysanthir had come to her house, perhaps by accident, perhaps drawn to the fire, perhaps following some half-lost memory. Regardless of the cause, she had taken him in and tried her best to talk to him, as if nothing had changed. He had said nothing in reply; the most he had done was look at her as she spoke. Better than some. At least it was a reassurance to see his familiar face.

Aside from that, life continued. Nothing happened to surprise her, to change the way she lived, to give her any kind of hope. She continued with the same bitter resilience that had pushed her through year after year.

Then the visits began.


	2. Friendship

She heard the roar of magical blasts, her old friend Arryn yelling frenzied battlecries, and an unfamiliar voice taking a reasoning tone. The sounds were coming from near the World Gate. She left the fire's warmth to investigate.

Through the crystal trees she saw a man standing seven feet tall, winged and feathered, enduring Arryn's assaults without fighting back. "I mean you no harm! I wish to help," he reasoned, increasingly frustrated by the lack of response.

A quick chant was enough to call a ceasefire: Angof sang the message _the feathered one is of no interest_ , and Arryn's crystals understood. A spell died in her hands, and she stood on the spot as if nothing had happened.

The feathered man stared at Angof in wonder. "What a beautiful song," he muttered. "I have always admired the lyrical craftsmanship of elves, but that was unlike anything I have ever seen."

"You may have met elves, but you have not met us," Angof replied. "My apologies for Arryn's greeting; I think the appearance of a stranger startled her. After all, you are unlike anything she's ever seen." She paused. "No offence."

The stranger gave a full, hearty laugh: "None taken!"

"Come with me," Angof said. "My house is up here. I believe a warmer welcome is in order." The man nodded, and followed her through the crystal forest. Arryn stumbled along with them, staying close to Angof.

They reached her house, and Arryn walked right in; Angof stood on the threshold to welcome her guest, whose gold and scarlet feathers shone in her fire's light.

"I am Angof of the Cywir clan. I protect and care for my people, and will speak for them as they cannot. I welcome you to Tarddiad."

"Thank you, Angof," said the man. "I am Armadyl, god of the Aviansie. Though at present I live on Gielinor, my homeworld is Abbinah, a planet far from here. We have a saying: 'xe'nia jal ravask daree' -- it means 'hospitality makes mortals divine.' It gives mortals the chance to play a god's role as protector and provider. In that sense, you are as much a god as I am."

"A pleasant thought, but our customs differ. I could never consider myself as a god." And his notion of godhood certainly differed from her experience of a certain goddess.

Armadyl bowed with a flourish of his feathered arm: "Then consider me a mortal instead."

"I am glad that we may speak as equals." She smiled, then stepped aside to allow him in.

She seated herself at the table, and Armadyl followed; the god looked somewhat ridiculous, his grandiose winged form cramped onto her humble chair. He looked as if he'd be more comfortable perched on top.

Armadyl spoke: "Tarddiad is beautiful, though I confess I've not seen much of it."

"I have," said Angof. "I have seen high towers of carved stone and crystal, towers that were then broken down as we craved the crystals that adorned them. This world is beautiful, you say, but it is nothing compared to what it was."

"Perhaps it could be again," said Armadyl. "You heard me say I was here to help?"

"I did. But how?"

Armadyl got up from the relatively tiny chair and stood by Arryn, still in the house and wandering aimlessly around. "Your people are lonely," he said, knowing Angof was listening and hoping Arryn was too.

(She wasn't listening. Wasn't even acknowledging Armadyl's existence, with Angof's chant still ringing in the crystals, with the crystals supplanting her own will.)

"We are lonely, yes," said Angof. "Infinitely so."

Armadyl faced her again, solemn. "I know loneliness. Not in the same way as you, of course. But I've seen almost all of my race wiped out before my eyes. I've wandered the stars in hopelessness, thinking for years I was the only one left. And then I found survivors. Just a trace of the community we once had, but a community all the same. That was a joy unlike any other. I hope... I hope I can bring the same to you."

Empathy. That was a gift in itself.

But she remained wary. "How do you propose to do this?"

"I can bring you company," he said. "My people strongly value community, having the whole tribe work for the betterment of all individuals within it. They could join you here, for the good of your people."

"You would have us share our homeworld with your people?" Angof considered this, uncertain.

"We wouldn't have to inhabit the same land," he said. "The Aviansie can live in canopies or floating citadels, while you live in the same places as before."

She entertained the idea of having fully cognisant company on a daily basis. Assistance. Community. The offer was tempting. 

"I have already proposed the idea to Seren—" the name stung in Angof's ears— "but she has yet to decide. I thought it would be best to consult you, as well, as you are the ones who this directly affects."

Angof stood up, looking up to make eye contact. "Before you sought the permission of those of us who live here, you consulted a god who hasn't cared about us in millennia?"

That gave him pause for thought.

She continued: "Seren forced us to depend on her, in her selfish desire to not lose us to death, and then she left us on our own. Like a mother abandoning her helpless child. You consult her to decide our fate? She forfeited her right to our destiny long ago."

"I see," Armadyl murmured. "Perhaps that was a mistake..."

"And it does little to convince me of your good intentions. If you only consider our opinion as an afterthought, who is to say that you care much for us at all? Who is to say that you will not simply occupy our territory with your Aviansie, sparing no thoughts for us as you do?"

Silence. The god looked pained, his beak drooping low. Arryn, still wandering, had come face to face with him. She did not make eye contact, instead staring as if no one was there.

"This is not a 'no', I assure you," Angof stated. "As benevolent as you appear, I cannot yet trust you to keep your word. Prove yourself as someone who cares, and perhaps I will consider your offer further. Until then... understand that I will take no risks."

"Of course," he replied, bowing his head. "Thank you, Angof. It has been good to meet you."

She nodded. "And you, Armadyl."

"Farewell, then." Armadyl left her house, spread his wings to their full span, and turned to her once more: "I hope to see you again soon."

"As do I." For all her doubts, she meant it sincerely.

He brought his wings forward in a mighty arc and took to the air, flying up into the Tarddiad sky. Angof was left to her thoughts.

Behind her, Arryn had become agitated: she was kicking and punching at a firmly locked chest. It was where Angof kept her supply of crystal.

"Of course..." she muttered.

She took the key from a hook on the wall – she'd never known a shapeshifter clear-minded enough to open a lock – and opened the chest. Arryn made a grab for the crystals inside, but Angof held her off; she counted out three crystals from within. Even skin contact was seductive, but she could not give in.

The shapeshifter kept trying to claw them from her hand, but Angof brushed her hands away. "Hold still." She held the three crystals up against her old friend's shoulder, against the array of crystals already there. A quick chant fused them into place.

Arryn's eyes cleared in an instant, and she looked into Angof's eyes: "Angof?"

She remembered! It was the first time she had heard her friend speak her name in years, and she returned the favour: "Arryn!"

But Arryn's stare was all too direct. "More. Need more."

"No," she insisted. "Three crystals is enough. You'll get no more than that."

"More! Please!" Arryn darted for the open chest, but Angof knocked her aside – locked the chest – fended off an attack from her friend. She was scraping at her with her fingernails, clawing at her closed hand for the key.

"No! Arryn, you don't need it! "

A spell was forming in her hands – Angof sang a quick chant: _Angof is of no interest._ Arryn's spell turned from her fellow elf to the chest, but it bounced off as soon as it was cast. Again and again she tried... no use. 

She'd never get through; Angof had reinforced that chest with crystals and enchantments to withstand any attack. But that wouldn't stop Arryn trying, shrieking spells at it until her voice rasped with rawness.

She would tire herself out eventually. Then she would leave, and continue her hunt for crystal somewhere else.

For now, though, Angof slumped in one of her chairs, exhausted from the encounter. Armadyl's plan sounded more enticing with every spell Arryn cast. People to help, to talk Arryn down from her frenzy, to keep her company and keep her safe. People to pick up the slack when exhaustion hit.

But no. She could not rush this. Allowing the Aviansie to stay on their world, without a second thought as to whether it was a good idea, had the potential to change Tarddiad beyond return. Armadyl seemed trustworthy, but that was only from one visit, and it was clear that he prioritised his people over hers. And even if he meant well – what if it went badly? Startled shapeshifters attacking, confused Aviansie fighting back...

Yet still she couldn't help but hope. The potential promise of relief was the most she'd had in years.


	3. Hatred

The World Guardian was killing her people. She didn't recognise the voice of the one being attacked at the moment, and she was loath to go out and check. That would just worsen the guilt of leaving her people to the slaughter. 

_It's not as if sitting in here while it happens is much better,_ she thought. Yet still she lacked the conviction to do anything about it. She couldn't help but think, with grim acknowledgement, that each death made her life easier.

She tried to justify it to herself: _it's not as if there's anything left of them, anyway._ The noise of combat died with the elf's choked scream. Regret hit Angof in an instant.

And there was the sound of the World Guardian approaching, making footsteps in the brush coming up to her house. _What do they want now?_ she thought.

"Angof?" they said, looking through the door to her house.

She tried not to sound too brusque: "Yes, World Guardian?"

Fortunately, they didn't seem to notice -- or if they did, they didn't seem to care. "Can you make me some attuned gloves from these?" They presented a pouch full of crystals, salvaged from the corpses of her kin.

"Of course."

The human emptied the pouch on the table, letting the crystals scatter all over it. Angof resisted rolling her eyes, instead focusing on collecting them into a pile.

"Rest your hands on here," she said, and they did.

The specific chant lay buried in her memory, but her knowledge of armour singing was rising further to the top with every piece she made. Her voice wavered at first, but grew in strength as she progressed with the song; the crystal responded to the notes and wound its way up the World Guardian's hand. Tendrils wound their way up to the human's wrists, wrapping around and then coming together in a solid structure. With a lingering note, the gloves were complete.

The World Guardian held their crystal-clad hands up in front of their face, flexing their fingers to test the armour. Their mouth hung agape. "These are brilliant!"

"You're welcome," said Angof, but then the human flung a hug around her, almost knocking her backwards on her chair. It was such a warm and thankful gesture, she almost forgot about their repeated murders.

They pulled away and jumped to the door. "Goodbye, Angof," they called back to her. "I'll see you again soon!"

Angof almost hoped they wouldn't. On one hand, they were company, but on the other...

She slumped in her chair. Singing armour required much more of her energy than it used to, especially as out of practice as she was. She had to sleep...

* * *

The sound of battle woke her. Was the human back so soon?

She listened. She was accustomed to hearing the World Guardian fight in close range, swiping their scythe against her friends' flesh. Whoever this was, they fought with magic -- unlike any that she had heard before. Its power crackled from afar.

So why was the fight taking so long? The fight should have stopped within a minute, with an opponent so seemingly powerful. But it had been prolonged for two minutes, nearing a third.

If they aimed to kill, surely they would have done so. The thought of someone fighting for any other purpose intrigued Angof enough to get up and look.

In the midst of the forest, she saw the scene. One of her clan (whose name she did not know) was engaged in combat with a strange man, standing tall above the elf and robed in red and gold. His silver-skinned head was adorned with twists of red horns. There was something about him that felt different -- certainly different to Armadyl, who in all his winged splendour had still been somewhat corporeal. This man felt like something else, set apart from the rest of existence. Almost like Seren.

"Excuse me," Angof called, drawing the stranger's attention. "Are you _sparring?_ "

The attacker did not pause his assault, instead casting magic with small gestures as he spoke: "Your kind have impressive endurance," he said, flicking off a fire spell that her kinsman's crystals absorbed. "This one, at the very least. A formidable fighter even despite his addiction."

She watched with curiosity as they continued their fight. The elf had adapted to the spells that assailed him, throwing crystal chakra in response. He aimed for the man's silvered forearms, attempting to disrupt the casting of his spells.

"I would say we fight so well _because_ of our addiction," Angof observed. "We Cywir always were hunters, and now the hunt feels more vital than ever."

"I see. Like how Lowerniel relished the blood hunt. The need makes you more fierce than your Gielinoran cousins..."

With the palm of his hand, he thrust forward a stun spell; the elf fighter toppled to the ground. "He'll wake in a few hours." Then his eyes studied Angof, seemingly assessing her. "You seem more... aware than the rest. Can you fight?"

"I was never a fighter," she said; a crystal dagger was sheathed at her belt, but that only served her in hunting for subsistence. "Who are you, and why are you fighting us?"

The man laughed. "It is refreshing to be judged without preconceptions. I welcome it." He stood, back straight, muscled body bare in the split of his robe. "I am Zamorak," he said. "I believe we may share a common enemy."

He continued: "I was not expecting any of you to be capable of speech. Is there any leader I can talk to, or is that you?"

"I wouldn't call myself a leader," she said. "But I can talk. You can try talking to the others, but I doubt many others will speak in response." She gestured along the forest path behind her. "Follow me, and we can talk in more hospitable surroundings."

"I can speak just as well here," was his retort. Angof nodded, and sat herself down on a rock beneath a tree; Zamorak remained standing above her.

"Your goddess, Seren. She has wronged your kind, has she not?"

"She has." Angof felt Seren's essence ringing in the tree behind her, and had to pull her focus away from it.

Zamorak gave a cynical laugh. "Then tell me. Describe what she did to your people."

"Why?" She looked at him, brow furrowed.

"I merely wish to hear how you tell it."

"Very well." If this was an attempt to empathise, it would not hurt to oblige.

"Seren first appeared to my people long before I was born. My ancestor, Ceidwad, was there to witness it; she spread the word of Seren through writing, and it was adopted as religion. All elves loved Seren, through choice as well as compulsion. But Ceidwad loved her the most, and Seren came to love her in turn. Hundreds of songs were sung about their love, though I doubt many are remembered.

"But Ceidwad died to age, as elves did in those days, and Seren was stricken with grief. Three days and three nights she wept for her lover, or so the stories go, but then she emerged with new purpose. She was not content for us to be mortal while she lived on in immortality, so she wrote us a new song. The Song of Creation, we named it. No more would we wither as quickly as her beloved Ceidwad; our lives would stretch into millennia."

"The sentimental fool," Zamorak scoffed. "Death is natural; weak elements must die to make way for new ones. To interrupt that process is to invite stagnation."

"I would not say we stagnated," Angof said. "Quite the opposite, our culture flourished. But her love was what sustained our lives. Being away from her was like being without air."

She saw the beginnings of a snarl on Zamorak's face. Undeterred, she continued.

"This was no problem when she remained with us. Yet that was not forever. A god named Guthix came to our world intermittently, and Seren fell in love anew. On one visit, he brought news of a perfect planet: Gielinor, he had called it. He envisaged it as a place for peaceful races to live in harmony, and he wished for Seren and the elves to live there with him. 

"Very few of us wished to leave. We have always lived here, why should we move? But Seren was... persuasive." She shuddered to remember it. "She left us, all of us, for... I do not remember how long. Far too long, it felt. We were starved of her love, and many of us died. The others clung to her on her return, following her across the planes. Yet the Cywir stayed... and this has been our fate."

"What a cowardly, underhanded tactic." His voice burned with viciousness. "Blackmail. Just as expected from such a falsely righteous god." Fire flared at his fingertips. "And you hate her for this?"

Angof buried her head in her hands. "I should. But her existence compels me to love her. It is maddening, that my feelings are not my own."

Zamorak reached out a hand; Angof uncovered her eyes to peer at it in curiosity.

"Then join me," he said. "Seren did similar to my people. She caused the murders of hundreds of my kind, thinned our numbers to a pitiful few, simply for her own selfish want. I wish to wipe her from existence, so that no other race is scarred by her sickening 'love'. Your people are fine fighters. It is fitting that they should play their part in ridding the universe of her."

Angof hesitated, scanning his face. The undercurrent of anger and hatred was clear, but the rest was difficult to read.

"You simply want us to further your own goals," she said.

"Of course. I will not be so condescending as to pretend this offer is entirely altruistic. But are these not your goals too? She deserves this for what she has done, to me and to you."

Compared to Armadyl, his honesty was refreshing. Yet still she hesitated.

"But what would that do?" Angof ran a finger along the crystal embedded in her wrist; its resonance rang out quietly in the air. "Would that free us? I suspect it would merely leave all elves as helpless as us." In a sudden vindictive spark, she imagined Gielinor's Seren-simpering elves finally driven to the same madness as the Cywir. Shutting her eyes tight, she forced the thought from her mind. 

"Perhaps." He paused. "Your decision is your own. Join me, thus giving your people purpose in taking down the one who has caused you grief, or remain here in the miserable state you have been in for millennia."

Angof remained silent, and thought.

Her eyes wandered, settling on the unconscious elf on the ground, the one with which Zamorak had sparred. He was breathing still. But there had been many a time when she came across others who hadn't been breathing. Some, she had recognised. Her own kin murdered by the World Guardian.

She had made up her mind. "I don't want to fight. I don't want any more of my people to die."

Zamorak's expression hardened, a certain coldness now visible in his stance. "As you wish."

He turned back towards the World Gate and left.

Angof returned through the forest, crossing over the bridge to her home. She caught sight of her reflection in the water, shimmering and rippling, and went to the riverside for a closer look.

Her chosen face looked up at her. She had crafted this face, back when she had shed her original form for something that was truly _her._ It had come from stained glass depictions of Ceidwad; Angof took pride in her lineage, and even in her old body people had remarked on the resemblance. Now, Angof herself was a likeness of Ceidwad: a living tribute, years after her death.

As the years had passed, as Tarddiad had fallen and the depth of Seren's betrayal had become clear, she had wondered if Ceidwad's likeness was something she should keep. But Ceidwad herself had done no wrong. Before and during Seren's arrival, she had brought unity to Tarddiad's elves.

Perhaps it was foolish idealism to imagine she could play the same role. Unity was nigh-unachievable in a clan so scattered and lost. Regardless, Angof continued to wear her ancestor's mantle, as a promise to live up to her legacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In-game, Zamorak's only briefly mentioned the Cywir Elves -- as "[Seren's] other favoured children", in his confrontation with her in Endgame. Regardless, his dialogue there makes it very clear that he intends to take her down. I thought it would be interesting to have him visit these "favoured children", to try and compare their plight to his own. Fellow members of the "Seren Fucked Us Over" Club, yay!
> 
> One more god to go (guess which? Hint: not Marimbo, though that would be glorious). Then finishing up with an epilogue.


End file.
